


Short Stories: Bright are the Stars Above

by Viking_woman



Series: Tales of the Inquisition: Iwyn Lavellan Canon [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Ensemble Cameos - Freeform, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Future, Holiday, Love, Marriage, Post Trespasser, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: NEW: Chapter 13: HomeCollection of drabbles and short stories about my inquisitor Iwyn Lavellan. This is not a full story, but glimpses and vignettes from her time after reuniting with Solas after Trespasser. Mostly pure sweetness. Most chapters are not nsfw, and not all tags apply to all chapters.Note: 'Dirt' is one of the more popular ones ;)Posted in chronological order, not the order written. Each piece can be read on its own. Feel free to browse through :)Many of these are prompted and written for Friday night DA drunk writing circle (@dadrunkwriting on tumblr).





	1. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short post-reunion drabble.   
> Canon typical violence for this one. 
> 
> Originally published 2/10/2018

Solas puts the last man in the dirt with his fists, a quick brutality, and the bandit is on the ground next to the others. They are all around them, dead bodies, blood in the sunlight. Iwyn Lavellan doesn’t count.

“Such a waste,” she says, her breath in small angry puffs. It is cold already in the foothills, the ground chill under her knees. 

“ _Vhenan_.” Solas rushes to her side, dropping to his knees. She lets go of her bloody dagger and falls into his embrace. She hates the dagger, some days, not the act of using it, the new intimacy of combat.  She hates that she has no other option, that she will never hold a bow again.

Today she feels indifferent, the dagger forgotten in the dust. All that matters are Solas arms around her, and that she can rest against him. That they are whole, and the road is safe. Safer.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he repeats, and he pulls back, and he runs his fingers over her, “are you hurt?”

“I am fine. None of the blood is my own. What about you, _ma lath_?”

“Nothing major.”

She takes his hand in hers, and kisses the back of it, the smooth leather hiding his knuckles. She hopes it protected him from bruising. 

“Good.”

She smiles at him, and she leans back into his chest. She is fine, and he is fine, and they are alright. Together. They made the roads a little safer, and did it together, and they will keep doing it. Solas kisses the top of her head.

She loves him, and they are both here, together.

 

 


	2. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet fluff. Iwyn puts a gift to good use :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 12/16/2016

When Iwyn finds him in the library, she triumphantly holds up something.

“Look what Josephine sent!” she triumphantly declares.

Solas looks up from him his book. It looks like a small box and and equally small bag. “What is it, _vhenan_?”

“Antivan chocolate! And ground cocoa! Come, we’re baking!”

“I see.” Solas closes his book and gets up.  He smiles, her happiness is a gift.  "You seem very excited, _vhenan_.“

“Of course,” she says as she is hurrying down the stairs. “Chocolate is not that common among the Dalish. And this is very good. You should taste it.” She stops and thrusts the box and him.

He flips it open, and raises and eyebrow. “I see you already did?” He breaks off a small piece.

“Well, I had to see if Josie sent the good stuff.” She laughs, and he feels warm all over. “Well, of course she did. I still had to taste.”

“It is good.” Bitter and sweet, it tastes like love.

She laughs again, and they make their way to the kitchen.

Iwyn begins pulling out bowls, flour, sugar, eggs, butter. “Now where did they hide the Orzammar Rising Powder?” she asks herself. She finds it, and puts it next to the other things.  "Let’s get started! We should have everything now, right?“

"How would I know? I don’t know how to bake.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t believe you! How can you not? You love sweets,” she arches an eyebrow at him, “and you  will tell me that you never, with all the time in the world, have learned how to bake?”

Solas is not really sure how to reply to that. “But you do?”

“Here, hold the bowl. I need to mix this. Actually, start by getting the oven going.” The fire in the stove is low, so he adds a few logs. Then he returns to where she is adding butter, sugar and eggs to the bowl. As she starts to mix, he grabs the bowl to prevent it from sliding.

“It is a funny story,” she begins. “When were camped outside Ostwick, I met a baker in town. He made these cakes for the human nobles. Very fancy.” She adds flour and cocoa and the powder with Dwarven runes on the box. “I traded some sweets for some rabbits, but I kept coming back. He had some spare cakes he made for… some party, and I kept coming back and hoped for more. In the end, he told me that a little meat couldn’t pay for it, but I could help him while is apprentice was visiting his sick mother. I pretended to go on very long hunting trips for a few weeks.” She laughs and smiles, he can’t help but to lean in and kiss her. This hidden talent is like a flower blooming in winter.

“I wouldn’t expect you to shrink on your duties.” He tries to imagine her younger, and careless, and fails.

“I didn’t. I am… was…  a very good hunter, so I had some extra time. Here, pour this.” She gives the bowl to him, and sets up a metal pan. He pours in the batter, the dutifully scrapes out the rest when she hands him a spoon.  Iwyn puts it in the now warm oven.

“Now we need to make the filling. We need to get some cream, and melt the chocolate. Do you see two metal bowls we can use?”

“If you need the chocolate melted, I can just heat it with magic?” he offers. He should be a little useful.

“Are you mad? No way, how do you know not to overheat it? It needs to melt slowly!” Clearly, he has no idea that making a cake is that complicated.

Soon the filling is done, and the cake is out of the oven. Iwyn cuts it in half, and spreads the filling over one piece, then adds the other on top. He is watching her, frozen like a love-struck teen. Some filling end up on her cheek.  He grabs her waist, and pulls her close.

“ _Vhenan_. You have something…” He deliberately licks the chocolate cream off her cheekbone. “Delicious.” She flushes, and he smirks a little. “The cake, is it done?” he asks.

‘Oh! Yes, we need some decoration. A few pieces of chocolate…” She breaks of some pieces and sets them on of the cake. “Almost. Master Anar made these wonderful chocolate flowers and leaves. We moved on before I learned.” Iwyn looks a little wistful at the cake.

Well, maybe he is not entirely useless here. “Let me see…” he passes his hands over the cake and concentrates. Not too hard. When he removes them, the chocolate pieces have transformed into delicate, detailed chocolate butterflies.

Iwyn gasps, then smiles and kisses him. “Very pretty! Come, let’s go eat this.” She turns to finds some plates, but he stops her. He still isn’t used to see her this happy, carefree. It makes his magic sing. He kisses her again, because he can.

 


	3. Solas thinks Lavellan is pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff :).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 11/18/2016.

She was relaxed, sated. Solas’ hands slide over her naked skin. Her belly, her breasts. Interests stirred in her again. 

“When were you going to tell me that were pregnant?” Solas suddenly asked.   
She considered teasing him. But he sounded lost, broken, his voice cracking. 

“I’m not, ma lath! Why do you ask?” she replied evenly. 

“I am not entirely ignorant of Dalish customs.” He gestured to her desk. 

“Oh, the Gift of the Halla Mother! The soft skins are used to swaddle babies” She smiled thinking of the softest skins, tanned in a special way by Dalish traditions. The result was the softest, whitest skins. Soft and warm for the nights in an Araval. “They are for Dalish - you know the Chargers?” 

“Dalish is pregnant? Not you?”

“Yes. Not me.”

“Hmm” he murmured. His had had stilled and he rested his head on her shoulder.

“I thought - I know she left her clan behind, but maybe she would appreciate something familiar. Something from home.”

“Very thoughtful of you, _vhenan_. Really, she is with chlld? Who is the father?”

“She didn’t tell, but yes she is. Krem said the Charges will all be parents.”

“They are good people.”

“They are.” 

She hugged him closer. He still wasn’t looking at her, resting his head in the crook of her neck. 

“Solas. _Vhenan_.” She pushed him off and sat up. Staring down on him. “Where you disappointed? Relieved? Do you want children?”

He looked up at her. Sat up. Looked down on his hands. “I… I am not sure. Maybe? It is not something I ever thought I could have.”

“It is ok. Just know that I would never - I know it is not foolproof - but I would never attempt without your agreement. And we don’t have to make up our minds just yet.”

When he looked up, tears where gleaming in his eyes. 

She leaned in, kissed him. 

 


	4. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange hunt

She is hunting in a dark forest. The trees are old, the ground damp. Moss is hanging off bramble branches covering the ground. She follows the game trail as it winds beneath the ancient oaks. This forest is nothing like the ones she grew up with in the Free Marches, but she knows this path and where she is going. There is an urgency to this hunt, she is stalking something big. 

Mist rolls over the path, and there is a stale smell in the air. She keeps going, and later she thinks she should feel uneasy, but she doesn’t. She is hunting. 

There, in the grassy clearing is her goal. It is a huge halla, larger than any she has ever seen. Its horns spiral up, branching, twining, longer than her own legs. Something is nagging in the back of her mind, why would she hunt a halla? But she dismisses the thought, she knows this is her goal. She draws her bow string back, her fake arm glowing blue. 

Then the halla turns its head, and its red eyes are glowing, looking right at her. Its coat darkens, turning ash grey, its horns jet black. It moves towards her, uncaring of her readied bow. Blood drip from its horns, running down its head, dripping into the swirling mist and onto the swampy ground, disappearing into the rotting leaves. 

She releases her arrow, but as she does, her bow breaks, splinters into a many pieces. The arrow sinks uselessly to the ground, and still the halla keeps coming, tall and fearless. 

It opens its mouth and an inhuman laughter escapes it. The blood makes the dark fur darker, its head grotesque as it opens its mouth to speak. 

“So you think you could hunt me, mortal. What will you do now?”

Sharp teeth fill its mouth. She draws her the knife in her belt, and says nothing. 

“You cannot protect him, not now, not ever.”

The wooden handle of her knife turns to sticky mush, and it slides from her fingers, the blade rusted and brittle. 

“He trapped us, he betrayed me, and he will pay. You will die and rot and he will be alone. I will have my revenge!”

The last word comes out as a violent scream, and the halla jumps forward, horn lowered, the red lyrium tips aimed at her chest. 

~~~

Iwyn wakes, sitting straight up. She takes deep gulps of air, clean and cold. There is a window open and she can smell the fresh air of the mountains, the early sunlight filling their rooms in Skyhold. Everything is quiet and familiar. Solas is asleep next to her, completely relaxed and undisturbed. He is only half covered by the blankets, and she runs her hand over his back, his shoulders. He is real, and calm. She rests her hand in the middle of his back, and she can feel his deep, steady breaths.  
She lays down again, and wraps her arm around him. She is still unsettled, unwilling to think about the dream, she pushes it away, letting the darkness shatter. 

Solas is here, and she will protect him. For as long as she lives, and it will be long enough. It will be.


	5. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Trespasser Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 9/23/2017

She loves the sunflowers. There are two in a green vase at the table where they are seated. This is fourth day they are in Dairsmuid, and yesterday Anna, the waitress with the big, curly hair, told them that they get the flowers from a small farm outside the city. They also get the eggs and the greens from the farm. Anna is not working today.

“Fresh orange juice?” Another waiter, a short man with a meticulously trimmed beard, balances a large tray on one hand, heavy with tall glasses.

“Yes, please,” Iwyn says and smiles. Solas nods, and they both receive a glass of the sweet, cool drink. They are seated on a terrace that overlooks the street. The air is already warm, but the city is not too busy yet.

Iwyn has her hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the liquid steaming in the earthenware. She lifts the mug to her lips, and Solas notices a small chip in the burnt orange enamel. They both have a newly baked pastry on their plates, a simple and decadent breakfast.

They watch the city come to life, and he savors the peaceful feeling along with the almond cream of his croissant. Mundane and wonderful. Just a few months ago he was lonely, in agony, in the dirt, in an abandoned ruin. Now he is here, a sweet confectionery on his tongue, and the eyes of his love fixed on his mouth when his tongue catches an errant crumb stuck on his lip.  

They don’t have any plans for today yet. No plans yesterday either. A day of leisure, and he doesn’t remember when he last had one.

_Let us take a vacation,_  she had said one evening.  _I have never been to Rivain. Have you?_

He had not, until now.

She puts her coffee down, and reaches her hand towards him, palm up on the table. He places his own on top and holds on.

“What do you want to do today?” Iwyn asks, and he wants to get lost in her smile. He can, he is allowed, and he almost asks if she wants to go back to the hotel.

“Maybe we could go outside the city and find the sunflower farm? Anna said they don’t mind visitors.“

“I would love to,” she says, and she squeezes his hand.

He smiles, wide and real and possibly a little strange, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts their joined hands and kisses her knuckles.


	6. Better, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Iwyn are visiting clan Lavellan, and have a dinner with Iwyn's family.
> 
>  
> 
> Originally published 1/13/2018

“It is ok, Brannie, it really is. I wouldn’t have brought him here otherwise.”

“I just don’t…” her brother shakes his head, his bright red hair bouncing, as if he clears his thoughts the way a dog removes water from its fur. “How do I know?”

“Trust me,” she says. She is trusting herself, her heart, leaping into the unknown, hoping the winds will not split her sails.

“I’ll try,” he replies, but when they enter, he grips his staff tightly, bringing it inside.

Iwyn follows, and the small winter house smells like home, even if it doesn’t quite feel like it anymore. It is disorienting, as it is seeing Solas and her father, Tawen, seated at the small family table.

 

Her father’s hands, brown and calloused and familiar, are curled around his drink. He is fully relaxed and leaning back in his chair, letting out a soft laugh. Solas is drinking too, lifting his glass in a friendly greeting. His shoulders are tense, though, his body held rigid under his affable posture. He hides it, but she knows. She runs her hand over his back, resting at his neck.

Branwen sits down next to their father, deliberately leaning his staff against the wall behind him, within easy reach. His gaze jumps from her hand to the two glasses at the table, to Tawen’s casual demeanor. She hopes he doesn’t do anything rash. Solas has more than enough power to counter any spell, more than her brother can fathom. She barely can herself, but she knows he would not hurt anyone. It doesn’t stop her worry, she wants this visit to be peaceful and happy, for them to enjoy coming here.

Branwen sighs and pours himself a drink.

“Come, Solas, I think mamae needs help in the kitchen.” Iwyn hurries to speak before her brother can, interrupting before Branwen can begin an argument.

“Yes, _vhenan_ ,” he replies and gets up. He nods and both men across from him. “Thank you for the excellent drink, Tawen.”

“You’re welcome – Solas.” Her father nods, only a slight stuttering before his name. Whatever they have been doing, it seems friendly now, but she wonders if it is a cover, luring in the prey, waiting for him to fail. She would not be surprised. There is a reason her father is still the Master Hunter of Clan Lavellan.  

As they walk to the kitchen, she can hear her father and her brother argue in low voices. She doesn’t want to know what they are saying.

Her mother, Siona, is busy, and Iwyn immediately goes to chop the herbs, washed and ready on the cutting board. She has to stop and push the herbs together ever so often, but she doesn’t mind.  

“Can I help?” Solas asks, hovering in the doorway.

“Do you know how to cook?” Her mother counters. Siona looks at him over her shoulder, while she keeps whisking her pot, her hands jerking in a fast rhythm.

“Well enough, I should think.” Solas gives her his best smile, and Iwyn’s heart leaps at the sight of it. It is unreal, seeing him in this kitchen, filling the small door and towering over her mom.  

“You can peel the potatoes.” Siona gestures to the huge pile of them.

Solas nods, and picks up the small knife. He easily cuts of the peel, ribbons of potato skins in a neat pile. Iwyn lifts an eyebrow at him. “A hidden talent, _ma lath_?”

She will not back down from the endearments, she has earned the right to say them, as much as Solas has earned his right to hear them.

“It has been… a while since my mother taught me how. But I did peel a lot of potatoes.”  

At this, Siona turns, the casserole in her hand. She thrusts it at his chest, like warrior with a shield, slamming an enemy.

“How long? How long has it been?”

Solas hesitates. He looks at Iwyn, and she is too far away to touch him, so she nods and tries to fill her eyes with calmness. _The truth_ , she had told him. _You have to tell the truth. They already know, and no one will want any lies._

“It has been longer than I can count. Lifetimes.” His voice is heavy, his gaze full of sudden sadness. She wonders how many people he has lost, how must dust covers his path.

“ _Mamae,_ ” Iwyn says. She knew this would not be easy, but she will not see him hurt.

Her mother whirls to face Iwyn. “Don’t you start! I am your mother and I have a right to know! Two years ago, you were here, warning us against him. You were devastated. And now I have to pretend everything is fine?”

“I am sorry, Siona. For everything. You can ask anything you like. Or I can leave, if my presence causes distress.” Solas offers a small, sad smile and he looks honest and vulnerable. Iwyn’s heart folds inwards, and she wonders how it still has room to beat, a contracted stone in her chest. She wants this to work, she wants to bring Solas here, to her family, but right now she wants to leave with him for Skyhold and never come back. She clenches her jaw and waits.

Her mother stares.

“Your sauce is separating,” Solas points out.

Siona looks down at her pot, and quickly puts it back on the stove, whisking furiously.

“Thank you,” she says. “Tell me, were there truly potatoes eons ago? Did the Creators eat them? Did Mythal peel potatoes?”

“There was, and they did, but _Mythal_ did not peel potatoes.”

Siona laughs at this, and as they work in the kitchen, she has a few more questions, small and curious things. Then they work in a silence that is almost comfortable, like they were discussing distant relatives and not the pantheon of false gods. Her mother is still guarded, but she looks less likely to attack Solas with kitchen implements.

 

 

Later, they are all seated around the small table. The dinner is delicious, the fish and the herbed sauce just as good as Iwyn remembers.

“Thank you for making this, _mamae_. I have missed it.” Iwyn says, and she means it. A taste of home.

“Thank you for helping,” her mother replies. “Both of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Solas says and smiles.

Branwen glares at Solas. Her brother is bristling, on the verge of speaking, or yelling, or running out. Solas’ smile falters, and he looks down at his food. Clearly, Branwen’s discussion with their father did not put him in a better mood.

Iwyn presses her thigh against Solas’ under the table. It could be worse, somehow. Branwen’s staff is still behind his chair, and they eat in silence now. It could be worse, they could not be here at all. Her fork makes a loud scraping noise as she hits her plate, tearing through the fish. It is not always elegant, eating with one arm.

The minutes stretch by, and now it is as if the afternoon had not happened at all, the breathing room they gained gone, narrowed down to a small chamber with too many people.

“I’ll make some more drinks,” her father finally says, breaking the silence just before it becomes unbearable.  

“Thank you,” Iwyn says. “I assume you have enough to bring around for the wedding?”

“Always,” her father grins, and it is like the wind changed, a spring breeze warming the room. Iwyn’s second cousin is getting married, and the conversation turns to the preparations, his bride, and the upcoming party.

“She is a city elf,” Branwen says, making another round of drinks as Tawen clears the table. “But she has magic.”

This launches a discussion of the sheer number of mages born to the clan, and everyone’s relationships and connections. The conversation is almost smooth, only a few strange pauses but no more angry silences.

 When he leaves for the night, Branwen clasps Solas hand, and holds his gaze.

 

 

After her brother leaves, Solas and Iwyn bids her parents goodnight, and retreat to their room.

“I’m sorry for the awkward parts,” she says. She leans into him, and puts her head on his chest. This is just another hurdle they have to get through, but she wants to be done with it. She wants to bring him here, to visit as often as she wants. It is already better.

“I am fine,” Solas says. “Truly, it is not that bad. I doubt it is anything I do not deserve.”

“Don’t say that, ma lath.” This is another thing dislikes. She stands on her toes and kisses him. “You deserve to be welcome, like anyone else. Like family.

He surges back and kisses her, in the Dalish moonlight spilling through the window in her parents’ home.

 

 

 

 


	7. Better, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dinner. This part is NSFW. (no specific warnings)
> 
> Originally published 2/3/2018

Iwyn’s lips are softer than the moonlight, and he kisses her again. And again. She groans and opens her mouth, her tongue running over his lips. He yields to her, and she tastes the liquor her father served after the dinner, of the herbs her mother used to cook the fish they had to eat. He pulls back, and she raises herself up, kissing his jaw, then biting him lightly, impatient.

He presses closer to her, wanting, needing, to feel her body against his own. The moon is silent, but he is not. He becomes aware of the wooden walls, the small room, as she pushes him towards the narrow bed.

“We should not,” he says, when the back of his shins hits the bed. “Your parents…”

The dinner had been awkward, broken up by nervous silence. He doesn’t want to overstep, not here.

“We’re adults, Solas,” she says with a smile. She keeps her hands on his chest, and she pulls back to her head to look into his eyes. “They know we are here, together.”

He isn’t sure they’ll approve, but he knows better than voice his concern. She has spent enough courage to bring him here at all. She wants him here, and that should be enough. He kisses her again, and again. He can’t help it, her eyes deep and honest.

“Okay?” she asks, her hands on his shirt, sliding beneath it.

He nods.

“We just have to stay silent, then.” Her eyes sparkle, jewels meeting the moon. “Can you manage?”

Her hands move lower, light and teasing. He grows harder in his pants, and he finds himself agreeing, yes, he can be quiet.

They make quick work of their clothes, their hands and mouths meeting skin with burning need. It is still new, wondrous, how she feels against him, how her hands touch him. He waited two years and more, with his heart closed to her. He waited immeasurable ages before that, to meet her, and now that she is here, he can’t wait, and he can’t be still. Moonlight and walls be damned.

They fall naked onto the bed together, their mouths tangled. Her hand is already on his cock, aching. His hand is on her breast, plucking a nipple, causing a muffled sound as she bites her lip. His other hand slides between her legs, finding her slippery and wanting.

The bed squeaks.

“Don’t worry,” Iwyn mumbles, her fingers running up his thigh, grazing his balls. “It’s fine.”

He hopes so, when she moves her hand to his erection, when he kisses her to stop himself for moaning. He hopes so, when her mouth leaves kisses down his chest, when she licks the tip of his cock.

“Just be quiet,” she says, an unfair challenge, as she takes him into her mouth. Her hand holds his hip, grounding him, holding him tight into the blankets beneath him. She sucks in earnest, and soon he has to put his hand in his own mouth, only a muffled sound escaping. He forgets why he should keep quiet, but he still tries.

The pressure at the base of his cock is mounting, and he manages to stroke the top of her head, and he lets out a soft sound to stop her.

“Wait, vhenan… I want…”

“Me too,” she says, letting go of his cock. “I want you inside of me.”

She moves up next to him, her skin touching his in a perfect agony. She pulls him on top of her, and he sinks into her heat, her gaze sinking into his. He moves, as she moves below him, first slow, and then faster. He wants more, he wants to bury himself so deep in her that he can never leave.

The bed squeaks.

She lifts her head and kisses him, and he doesn’t care. It squeaks again, with every stroke, but he moves faster, surrounded by her, and she muffles a moan biting into his shoulder. The pressure at the base of his spine expands, filling him, and the bed squeaks and he groans, and she moves, and he comes, and all he knows is her.

He collapses on top of her, and she folds her arm around him.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she says.

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ,” he replies.

He kisses her brow and then he rolls off her. She grabs something, somewhere, and cleans herself, then hands him the cloth. Soon they are under the blankets.

“I am not sure we managed to stay quiet at all,” he says.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

She is curled up next to him, her lips moving against his shoulder, and he knows she is right.  She is next to him, loving him, in her parents’ home. She loves him enough to bring him to her family, to the people she cares about. It is blinding, like the daylight which will surely fill the room come morning.


	8. Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to clan Lavellan. An unexpected proposal. Fluff.
> 
> Now with a [ gorgeous illustration ](http://thevikingwoman.tumblr.com/post/159026163431/iwyn-lavellan-and-solas-by-hansaera-art) by Hansaera-Art.

The fire is warm and the night is dark. He is watching the dancers, and the laughter, and it is surprisingly relaxing. Just sitting, alone, but part of the crowd.

He had been nervous, coming here. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet clan Lavellan, but he had doubt that he would be well received. Iwyn had mentioned she had told her family about him. Warned them, in fact. When he had expressed his concern, she had flatly told him that he could not hide in Skyhold forever, and after telling her friends and family that not only was the Dread Wolf real, he had broken her heart, he had better come along. So they would believe her, and they believe her heart unbroken. She had send the last part hesitant, as if she did not fully believe so herself. This, of course, had stilled all his arguments.

In the end, it was less painful that he thought. It was the eve of the wedding. One of the Iwyn’s second cousins. It turned out Dalish weddings were much like any other. There was the couple, some promises, the food and drink and music. The details hardly mattered. Even if they did plant a tree.

He watched Iwyn dance with some of her clansmen. More cousins, he thinks. She smiles and moves with abandon, and it he is suddenly happy he came. To see her like this, and that none of his failures had robbed her of this. It makes him smile.

His thoughts are interrupted when a small child stands in front of him.

“ _Hahren_?”

“Yes,  _da’len_? Should you not be asleep now?”

She shrugs. “I woke up, and  _Mamae’s_  bedroll was empty.”

“Are you looking for her?”

“Not really.” She gives a mischievous smile. “Is it true you are the Dread Wolf,  _Hahren_?”

“Some call me so, but I prefer Solas.” He tries for a disarming smile. Honestly it has been quite some time since he as interacted with children.

“Oh.” She seems to think a little about this. “The Keeper says you are very scary. I don’t think you are.”

He seems to have lost his voice.

“Even if you are, you will only be scary to our enemies. You’re with the First’s sister, so you have to protect us now.”

“I will try  _da’len_. But only if you go back to your bed.” He smiles, then.

“Thank you!” She beams, and then jumps in his lap and gives him a hug. He hugs her back and when she has scuttled off, he can still the warmth of her, feel her tiny arms around his neck.

Something is between him and the fire and he looks up to see Iwyn looking at him fondly.

“Charming everyone, Solas?” She is arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe.”

She laughs and sits next to him. She somehow has two drinks in her hand, the liquid slosh a little when she sits next to him.

“Here. It is made with honey and blackberries. Tenara made it.” She looks at him, half uncertain, half challenging.

“Thank you,  _vhenan_. It is good, I have had a taste already.” It is the truth, and he thinks that she is uncertain too, how he would take all this. If he would reject it all.

She leans on his arm. Empties her cup. Then she leans forward and falls over in his lap. She smiles and look up at him.

“Thank you for coming Solas. I hope it wasn't too bad.”

“It is not. Though your brother did promise to – I think his exact words were – ‘hunt me to the end of the world and skin me’ if I ever hurt you.” Again. He doesn’t say that part out loud.

The conversation had been interesting to say the least. Iwyn’s brother is younger than her, by a bit. A mage, very serious and eager to fulfill his duties as the First. He had drawn Solas aside earlier, looking like he worked up quite the courage. He supposes it is only natural, that they are afraid of him. That they think he might hurt her. But it is tiring. At least Branwen’s bold accusations and threats had been refreshing, better than the silent glances.

“I’m sorry. He really takes his job seriously. And I think he still feels odd about me being the Inquisitor and all. He just wants to act like a brother.“ She giggles. “Though he IS supposed to keep everyone in the clan safe from the Dread Wolf. Good thing he failed.”

Some days, he wonders if that is the truth. Sometimes he wonders if there was any failure at all. But now Iwyn smiles wider, looking up at him. There is love in her eyes. He can feel the fire in front of him and the tree bark is rough behind him. There is dirt under his fingers, and everything is so real and it should cut like glass, but it feels like cotton. Stars and dirt and sparks.

“Marry me?” he says, and he is surprised. It isn’t want he meant to say.

She sits up, and looks him up in the eye, and he can’t read her expression at all. He should not have said that. They have both been drinking. They should have discussed it. He should not have said it like this, and he wants to apologize, to give her an out, to…

“Yes.” That is all she says. Like it is the simplest thing. And then they are kissing and her hand is wandering and there are too many people around them. He lifts her up and he carries her away.

 

 


	9. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is mostly empty, and Iwyn can't find Solas

The afternoon sun casts its bright light through the windows and the open doors to the balcony. It paints the room in rich orange and greens through the stained-glass windows. Iwyn looks at them and frowns. It looks lovely, but the windows on the other side light up with the dawn. It didn’t use to bother her, she was up with sun so often. But now, now she wants to linger in bed, bury herself in the scent of man besides her.

This is what leads her to her current problem. Drapes will solve the issue, but she cannot decide on a color. She will not break down and message Josephine for advice, she is still the leader of what is left of the Inquisition, and it is her bedroom. Hers and Solas, she thinks with a smile. Green would fit the stained glass. Blue his eyes and the sky above the mountains. Deep red would match the carpet. Maybe midnight blue would be soothing, and surely keep the light out? Too many choices, but she wants it to be perfect. She wants him to feel happy, to feel at peace here. She groans and sits on the bed. Maybe she should just ask him.

Decided, she hurries down the stairs, expecting him to be in rotunda, reading or putting the final touches on the completed murals. He isn’t and there is no half-opened book, and no wet brushes. A raven caws, and she looks up, but there is only a few birds in the tower, and no new messages.

He might be in the garden, reading, but once she gets there it is mostly empty. He is not in the smithy, he is not in the old diplomatic suite where they take their meals. He might be hungry, though, so she heads to the kitchen. He is not there either, but the cook is still there – he refuses to leave Skyhold no matter how few people lives here now – and he pushes a basket of warm cinnamon bread in her hand.

She makes her way down to the wine cellar and the underground library, calling his name. No one answers. Where could he be? She walks from the kitchen to the stables, and up the archway to the inn. Sera is away, a Red Jenny task calling her. The Chargers and Bull is out on a mission, and she just finds Maryden in the inn, composing a song.

“Have you seen Solas?” she asks.

Maryden shakes her head.

Skyhold feels so empty, these days. Her friends have finally decided they can leave her alone with Solas, no more coordination of who is here to keep track of him, no more watching over her like she will shatter and break. She enjoys her time with Solas, and she appreciates their trust, if it wasn’t for the fact that it feels so lonely at times. It is nothing like height of the Inquisition, where the constant buzz of voices reached her everywhere. The War Room is empty too, though she must have lapsed, someone has moved the marker for the Tevinter forces. They are on the move. She frowns, she will worry about that later.

She already checked the garden, but she checks it again. He is not in the room where Morrigan’s eluvian still stands, for safe keeping, of course.

She calls his name yet again, where is he? She can’t find him, and she is gripped with a sudden fear, that he left, that he is gone, that maybe he was never really here. She stops a moment and takes a deep breath. It is nonsense, and she realizes she has not checked the battlements or any of the towers. He would not leave her, not now. She takes another steadying breath, she doesn’t want him to see her upset, to see his eyes filled with guilt and concern.

She climbs the stairs and steps into the now-empty mage tower.

“Solas! Solas!”

No one answers, just words echoing off the half-finished walls. The mages have gone with Fiona, or with Vivienne, and they are still in the middle of turning the tower into a suite of guest rooms.

She exits on the other side, and the sun is almost gone now, slowly sinking below the mountains. The sky is orange and crimson, vermillion reflections on the snowy mountainsides.

The door to the corner tower is ajar, and she slips in, then stops in her tracks. The fallen ceiling is repaired, the room cleared, and a ladder leads up above.

“Solas?”

She hears a sound like a bell on a clear winter day, and then a thump. She climbs the ladder, the basket of cinnamon bread balanced in her mouth. She puts it down when she emerges, almost dropping it.

Solas is there, the green glow of magic pulsing in his hands, sweat on his brow.

“Solas?” she repeats.

He turns to her, and the magic scatters, the light in his eyes dissipating, leaving just the man standing there.

“ _Vehnan_ ,” he says with a soft smile. “I am almost done.”

She jumps to the roof platform, which doesn’t look like a roof at all. She just stares, turns her head and takes it all in. It is so lush, so green. Impossibly, she is standing on a carpet of grass. Willow archways rises above, each covered with roses blooming in a myriad of colors. She breathes deeply, and the sweet scent overwhelms her. Behind her, she can hear a fountain trickle, and a large butterfly flutters past her, the yellow wings shining in the evening light.

 “You did this?” She doesn’t trust her eyes. It is lavish garden, an oasis, nothing that belongs in a military fortress, or should even exist in the cold winds of the Frostback Mountains.

“I… Yes.” He steps close to her, takes her hand, and looks down at it. A blush creeps into his face. “Do you like it?”

“I _love_ it. It is so beautiful. But how? Why?” She looks up at him, and her heart sings at the way he looks at her. She feels like her emotions are filling her up, spilling out of her, making her whole body sing. She leans into him, coming home. Grounding herself in his touch.

“There used to be …” he stops, and he put his arms around her. “It doesn’t matter. I wanted you, _us_ , to have a quiet place, somewhere beautiful and restful.”

“It is. Thank you.”

They stand there for a moment, suspended in time, in the present, where nothing but their togetherness had ever been, or would ever become.

“Show me all of it,” she then says, and he does.

Then they lie in the grass, and they eat the cinnamon bread, while one star after another emerges on the night sky.

She forgets to ask him about the drapes.

 


	10. Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can change in a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 5/4/2018

The breeze gently moves the tents, their red and green and yellow coverings. It is welcome, here in the afternoon sun, the early summer already warm in the lowlands. They are going up in the mountains soon enough, and it should be cooler there. Yet Solas worries. He has never been to Clan Lavellan’s summer campsites, they only visited that once time last spring, when they were still in their winter dwellings.

A lot can change in a year.

He eyes wander to where his wife, _his wife_ , leans over the wares of the booth. They table is covered in lavender. Dried bundles of them ties with purple ribbons, small cotton satchels, lavender soap, jars of lavender salt and small flagons of lavender oil. The scent drew them in from three booths away.

They are passing time, waiting until Iwyn’s brother shows up. The location of the camp changes every year, and Branwen said he would meet them at the market square. They have spent a week in Kirkwall, and just arrived to Wycome last night. It is too much travel, he thinks, but she insisted to visit her parents before the baby is born. They should have rested another day, instead of moving out. They saw almost everyone just two months ago at the wedding, but Iwyn wanted to visit.

She pointed that if they waited any longer, she might have to stay until the baby was born, and she wanted to give birth in Skyhold. In their home.

It is a deep truth, their life together in place that belongs to them.

Now they are out here, where everyone stares and whispers and points to her missing arm and the swell of stomach. He wants to hide her from this world and the danger that lurks everywhere, the uncontrollable facts of the world. His hands flex.

Iwyn smiles at him and stalls his thoughts. She gestures him over with eager joy in her eyes.  

“Isn’t this wonderful, ma’lath?”

He nods, looking more at her than the lavender. The tension leaves him. There is no real danger here. She glows and exists, and he wants to paint her, her green dress and round belly and the dusty market and the lavender booth.

“I think I should get mamae some soap. Or maybe some bundles? She will find uses for them.”

“You could get her both,” he offers.  Anything to make this visit go smoother.

“Yes. Can I have two, no three, pieces of soap, and those two bundles, please.”

The elf manning the booth nods, her dark curls bouncing. A Dalish, he notices, Sylaise’s vallaslin curling up her face.

“If I may – I would suggest the massage oil. It is very calming and great for relaxing.” The elf gives Iwyn a soft smile, her eyes darting between Iwyns belly and Solas’ face. 

“Thank you, but –“

“We will take it,” Solas interrupts. “I should take care of you. Please, allow me.”

“You already do.”

She reaches for him, her hand brushing his cheek. He shatters, briefly, frozen, and then the breeze is back, and the merchant puts their items in a small paper bag, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her add a small packet of lavender salt. She lifts a finger to her mouth.

The kindness of strangers. The smell of lavender.

 


	11. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan holiday family fluff.
> 
> _mention of pregnancy_
> 
> Originally published 12/22/2017

“Open, open,” Elohir cries, and tugs excitedly on the gold ribbon around the package.

 Iwyn smiles and helps the 2-year old pull the ribbon off, and with a big smile he immediately continues to tear the at the blue paper.

 “Present, my present,” he says, and Solas laughs and agrees, yes, it is his present.

A sturdy box is revealed, and Iwyn gently helps Elohir open it. Inside of it are colorful wooden blocks, each carefully carved and painted with Elvhen letters. Soon Elohir is stacking and knocking them over with the untamed glee of a toddler.

Solas reads the note tucked inside the package, the letters written with a sure hand.

 

_Happy Wintersend! We hope you are well. I did my best to find a comprehensive list of all Elvish letters, but if anything is missing or wrong, Thom said he can easily fix it. We hope to visit in spring. All the best, and good health to you all, especially the babe._

_Love, Thom and Josephine._

 

Iwyn protectively rests her hand on the swell on of belly, and leans back against Solas. All three of them are seated on the floor, on the soft carpet. The glow of the fire casts happy shadows on the wall. Solas puts his hand on top of hers.

“Look, _papae_ , one, two, five,” Elohir points to his tower of blocks.

 “Let me help you count, _da’vhenan_ ,” Solas says, and he crawls over next to Elohir. Together they practice the counting, stacking the tower higher and higher. They both look so focused, and Iwyn feels like her bones are heavier and happier than ever.

“Oh!” She can’t help her outburst. “The baby is kicking.”

“Really?” Solas is by her side, his hands on her.

“My baby,” Elohir exclaims and he climbs into her lap, resting his whole body against her belly.

“Yes, our baby.” This is the first time she has really felt it kick, not just a small fluttering movement. She hopes Solas and Elohir can feel it too, and she is not disappointed when there is a large kick moments later.

“Baby,” Elohir says with giggle. “ _Ar lath_!”

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” Solas says, “All of you.” He kisses the top of Elohir’s auburn hair, and then her cheek. His other hand grips hers, hard, like he is afraid to let go. 

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she answers, peace in in soul. All the world is just this room, the shredded paper, the warmth of the fire. Perfect.


	12. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some family fluff at a First Day party. Takes place a short time after Warmth.
> 
> _implied pregancy_
> 
> Originally published: 12/30/2017

The party is loud and happy, warm light spilling everywhere. Iwyn accepts a glass of water from a waiter as she sits down, eyeing Elohir happily crawling all over the Prince of Starkhaven.

Sebastian is another of Varric’s friends, his First Day party a testament to his vast network of people from all parts of Thedas. Where else would you find royalty and fugitives, a pirate and a Magister sharing drinks and food? Only in Kirkwall, at the Vicount’s Palace.

She smiles and leans back in her chair. She wants to put her feet up, but she also wants to enjoy the party. Elohir certainly is, giggling and uncaring about political impossibilities.

Solas is leaned against a wall, sipping champagne, deeply engaged in a conversation with another of Varric’s friends, a small Dalish woman. She has no doubt they are discussing the Eluvians, and she is grateful for the one in their mansion, a piece of ancient magic making this visit possible. She doesn’t even question her luck, observing the life around her, the joy bringing a quiet to her soul.

Solas looks away from Merrill, their eyes meeting across the room. She smiles and waves him back to his conversation, wondering how many times Merrill has sworn by the Dread Wolf in the last hour alone. Someone keeps refilling her glass.

“My dear,” Vivienne says, moving in front of her chair. “It is so good to see you.” 

She stands up and while Vivienne motions for her to sit down, she still accepts an embrace and a kiss on her cheeks. 

“Likewise, Vivienne. I am glad you could make it.” 

Vivienne pulls up a chair next to her, and soon they are engaged in news from the Game, and tales of old friends. They mostly leave the topic of the Circles and the College to another day, but Vivenne all but admits that having two magical organizations has resulted in more political power for the mages, not less.  

 

 

Later, Solas has extracted Elohir from the Prince, and she grins when he throws himself at her.

“ _Mamae_ , _mamae_!” 

She kisses his forehead.

“Is it time for us to leave, _vhenan_?” she asks.

“I believe it is. Are you alright? Are you tired?” Solas has a slight frown on his face, making her love sing louder than the band Varric has hired.

“I am fine, _ma lath_.” She raises herself on her toes and kisses his cheek. “Elohir, sweetie, you need to walk or sit on your _papae_. I can’t carry you.”

“Papae!” Elohir throws himself back into Solas arms, and then they say their goodbyes, making their way through the mass of people.

Outside, the frost bites her cheeks, the cold of season reaching all the way to Kirkwall. Iwyn is grateful for the carriage Solas somehow engages to bring them back to their own house here. It is Varric’s, really, but he refuses to take it back, and it does make it easier to visit. 

Bundled in blankets against the cold, the horses’ hoofs hit the cobblestone and it is not long before the rhythmic motion lulls Elohir to sleep between them. The night is full of love.

“It was a nice party,” Solas says, looking content and drunk and sleepy. There was a time she did not think she would ever see him like this.

“It was _. Ar lath ma_ , Solas.” 

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he replies, and soon she is asleep too. She knows he will have no trouble carrying both her and Elohir to their beds, secure in his arms. 


	13. Home (NEW) - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 7/21/2018

Solas is not nervous. There is nothing to be nervous about.

Iwyn is doing fine.

He saw her just last night, in the fade.

She is fine and she will be home soon.

“Papae, papae!”

“Yes?”

“I need paper.”

“Alright, let me just…”

He finds some more paper for Rhuwen, who happily goes back to tearing it into tiny pieces. It is a mess, but he can’t be bothered to clean up or tell him to find something less messy to do. At least he is occupied.

Solas returns to his book and does not wonder when the Eluvian will activate, though he does reach out with his magic, just in case. Iwyn should not have any problems traversing the crossroads, and she will arrive unharmed.

Soon. He taps his pen against his notes, he can almost connect these ideas, and if his calculations are right, it should be -

“I’m hungry!”

Elohir looks up from his ‘experiment’, he is trying to form ice crystals in his glass, on the window, where ever he can try. He hasn’t yet figured out he needs to draw moisture from somewhere, but he will understand soon enough.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.” Solas closes his book. “Are you hungry too, Rhuwen?”

“Yes.”

His younger son jumps up, and papers scatter everywhere. Later, he will fix this later. They make their way down the stairs – they want to change the layout, to move their living suite closer to the kitchen, or have their own sperate kitchen. Skyhold is not always convenient for a family.

Maybe Iwyn would prefer a real, small home. Except she needs this place for her work, and Skyhold, and what it has become, is her work. The work that has left her eight days in Orlais. Eight days, instead of the planned five. This is their home.

In the kitchen, he finds crackers and cheese and cut slivers of a parsnip for Elohir and Rhuwen. They do not eat the parsnip.

 

Later, the boys have found some playmates, children of the traders passing through, and of the families who have come to live here. He sits in the sun, not too far from the barn where they went, and he pulls out his book. He looks at the sky to find the sun.

She should be home now. He drums his fingers against the cover of his book. Did she run into trouble on the way? Using the eluvians requires her to travel mostly alone, but only for a short distance. Or did she decide to extend her trip again? Sometimes, he wonders if she tires of him. If she would rather… Solas shakes his head. Those thoughts have no place in his mind, and they do not make sense, after everything. He opens his book.

 

It is not much later, when he feels the eluvian open, and he knows she is home. He stands. The kids are somewhere, still playing their game of hide and seek. He walks towards the eluvian. He does not run, but his smile is growing, and his steps might be a little longer than usual.

He finds her at the top of the stairs, and she is dusty and worn from travel, and her hair is falling out of her pony tail, and he does not care one bit.

“ _Vhenan_.”

“ _Ma lath_.”

She smiles and her eyes crinkle and then she is in his arms. Finally, in his arms, warm and real and she smells like herself and dust and magic and a hint of Orlesian rosewater. Their kiss is long and full of need, soft and warm. She is here and she is safe.

She pulls back to break the kiss.

“Where are the boys?”

“In the barn.”

“Let’s go find them. I have missed you all”  
“We have missed you.”

He takes her hand and they walk together.

“I’m sorry this was such a long trip. I’m so happy to be home.”

“Was it fruitful?”

“Mostly. I will tell you more later.” She scans the courtyard and gives him a half smile – the smile he has missed every day – and lifts her finger to her lips. “I will go hunt for some children.”

He watches, as she sneaks up on Rhuwen, as he squeals and laughs when she lifts him in her arm. Rhuwen ‘helps’ her find Elohir, who hears his brother easily, and runs to them as soon as he sees Iwyn. They climb all over her, and Solas goes to join them, the tangle of family and love and limbs.

Iwyn is finally home, and so is he.

 

 

 


	14. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwyn teaches their children to sail. Solas is nervous.

Solas looks out over the small cove. The water is still and the wind is calm, but steady. The small boat looks incredible _small_ out there. Just a shell and a mast and two small sails. The main sail and the jib sail, he learned, and it is new to him. Yet he is not the one sailing, he is here, on the shore, watching. The boat is not large enough for all of them, and Iwyn insisted on taking the boys out.

 

Branwen, Iwyn’s brother, stands next to him. He is looking intently at the boat and his nephews. Rolls forward on his feet, gesturing. Solas looks from the boat to the other man, and back to the boat. He can see Iwyn showing them how to pull on a rope. The sheet. Branwen puts his hands down, and turns to Solas.  

 

“Nervous?”

“I am not,” Solas answers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It is a lie. The boat is very small.

Branwen smiles at him. “It is fine. They are doing well. My sister still knows what she is doing.”

“Are they supposed to be so far out?” Solas squints against the sun.

Branwen lets out a laugh. “Truly, Solas, they are fine. Did you never sail?”

“Not on vessels like that.” He has been on ships, on big Caravels and Frigates with captains and crew and magic, racing across the world, spirits dancing at their bows.

Branwen places a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax. It will be fine, even if they capsize.”

“How?” Solas frowns. They are quite a distance from the coast, and Iwyn only has one arm. He can see it, all of them struggling in the water.

 “Let me show you this. I don’t have lot of extra power now, but you should be able to do this easily. “

Solas turns and looks at Branwen, follows the spell he does. It seems small and easy. Out in the bay, a medium sized rock rises out of the water. Solas tilts his head, and tries, once, twice.

Seven large rocks rise out from middle of the bay. He relaxes a fraction, he could probably life everyone out of the water.

“Show off…” Branwen mutters.

Solas drops the rocks, they plummet down with a big splash. The kids point and yells, the sound lost to the breeze.

“Oh. I am sorry.” Solas says sheepishly. He can feel the unease in his chest still. He doesn’t want to be anything but a father, a family member.

Branwen just laughs. “It is ok. I have long since come to terms with my sister marrying the most powerful mage in Thedas.”

Solas doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“You should notice though, that is not the only way of keeping everyone safe. “

“Oh?” and Solas looks at Branwen, and then he really looks, and he sees the spell and veil and the subtle pulls. “Weather magic?”

“Makes it easier to learn to sail when the wind is in you favor.” It is a big and complex spell his brother-in-law is weaving, and it makes sense the levitation spell felt strained.

“I did not notice. Weather magic is not my strong suit.” He frowns. He should not be this distracted. “I once knew someone very skilled with weather magic.”

Branwen raises an eyebrow. “You are not just worried about the sailing.”

Solas turns away and look to the shore, the forest raising darkly above them. It is not just the sailing adventure.

“Maybe,” he relents.

Brawnen looks out across the water. The boat has picked up speed, finally both sails aligned with the wind.

“It is complicated, there are many - ”

“It is not me you need to tell. You need to talk to your wife. I doubt she will appreciate you hiding your worries, or what else it is.” Brawens voice is even, his eyes following the dinghy.

“I know.” He doesn’t want to think about it, or talk about it. The truth is he has pushed it away for too long, and Branwen is right. There is nothing they should hide from each other. He had hoped there was some way to avoid it, foolishly.   

“Whatever it is, Solas, you can count on me. On us. You do have the support of Clan Lavellan.”

“Thank you, Keeper,” Solas says gravely, and he means it.  

 

 


End file.
